


Right Now

by butterflyslinky



Series: His Mighty Shield [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Katy Perry - Freeform, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right now, he's doing well. Right now, everything's okay. And right now, you both remember what you have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vinvy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinvy/gifts).



Things are going well right now. Of course, “right now” is the key, since over the last few months, Bucky’s had a lot of ups and downs. Still, you’ll accept “right now.”

After all, you don’t know how long “right now” is going to last. Because you’ve had plenty of “right nows” and they always come crashing down, somehow.

The first time “right now” came to an end was when Bruce, in all innocence, suggested removing Bucky’s arm and making a new one. One that was less obtrusive. One that wasn’t a part of the Winter Soldier.  
Bucky didn’t get angry, per se, but you knew that the idea scared him. That taking an arm off again was terrifying to him. You could see it in the way his eyes widened, the way his breath grew short, and you hurried him away before he had a panic attack that could possibly bring out the Hulk.

Afterwards, you apologized to Bruce, saying that Bucky was too used to that arm by then to replace it. And Bruce apologized for even suggesting it, admitting that it was insensitive. You never speak of it again.

Following that first incident, there were plenty of others. Times when Bucky would become afraid of someone and hide in your room for days, only coming out if he could be assured you would be with him. Times when Bucky would grow angry at someone, usually himself, and take it out on whichever wall happened to be closest, even if he did apologize and help repair it later. Times when he became sad and remorseful, when he would just sit and cry for hours on end, no matter how you tried to console him.

The worst time is one of these. You find him sitting on the bed, tears pouring down his face, the bottle of sleeping pills in his hands. He’s staring at it contemplatively, as if debating what to do next.

He doesn’t seem to understand why you panic, why you shout out and rip the bottle from his hands. He only looks up, sad and scared and confused as you pull him into your arms, clutching him tightly so he won’t go away.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Please, Bucky,” you say. “Please don’t leave me again.”

He nods. “Okay,” he says. “I won’t.” He hugs you back for a moment. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “Just…if you ever feel like it’s too much…tell me, okay?”

He agrees, and you lock the pill bottle away in a cupboard, only opening it to get the proper dosage for him to sleep. If Bucky tells anyone, you never know about it.

*

But in spite of all that, right now, he’s doing well. He’s sleeping more soundly, which means you are as well. Most days, he can go about life as normal, or as normal as it ever gets for you. If there are any lingering doubts from the others, you never hear them, and if Bucky still has guilt over what he did, he never tells you. As far as you can tell, right now, everything’s perfect.

And like every other “right now” there’s been over the past few months, you start to notice things about Bucky. Just little things, things you remember from before the war. The way his smile is too small when he doesn’t find something funny but doesn’t want to be rude. The way he sits now, leaning back as though he owns the place…at least, when Tony isn’t there to remind him. The way he laughs without making noise, the way he bites his lip, the way he runs a hand through his hair when he’s agitated.

The way he feels in your arms at night.

You’re surprised, once Bucky starts sleeping soundly, to find that holding him through the night is so familiar. After all, before, when you two slept side by side, he was usually the one holding you, making sure you were still breathing and that you were warm enough. Now, your positions are reverse, with him buried in your embrace, seeking protection from the world, and with you monitoring him to ensure he’s well, feeling his heartbeat against yours and his warm breath on your neck. It’s comforting for you both, but it does stir old memories.

And you wonder if he remembers it, that night you lay together on the floor of his room. The night you curled close together, kicking for space but not wanting to get away. The night he had confessed what he wanted.

_“I love you, Steve,” he mutters._

_You lie still, not sure what to make of that information. After a moment, you speak. “Bucky…” you begin._

_“Not like that,” he adds. “I mean…it’s not cause you’re a man. But you complete me. I need you, Steve. And I…I don’t want to do that with you, but…I want to marry you. I want to keep you with me, always.”_

_You roll over and touch his cheek lightly. “I feel the same,” you admit. “Though…I wouldn’t object if you did want to. But if you don’t, that’s okay. I respect that.”_

_“It’s not just you,” Bucky assures you. “I’ve never actually wanted to do it with anyone. It’s not something I’ve ever wanted. I’ve always just wanted this. You in my arms. You by my side.”_

You wonder, as you look at him now, if he still feels that way. And since the world has changed so much, you wonder if he can finally have what he wanted so much.

But no. He’s your responsibility. You have control over his life. You can’t ask for that right now.

*

He does remember.

You learn that he does a few days later, when you two are sitting in the kitchen, having lunch. The others are all off doing their own work, so you take advantage of it, turning the radio up as loud as you can tolerate so you and Bucky and listen to what Tony refers to as “Top 40 crap.” It’s not like anything from your own time, but somehow, you like it. It’s crass and loud and a lot of it is disrespectful to a lot of people, but at the same time it’s happy and fun and you can’t help but enjoy it.

Bucky loves it as well, singing along to the choruses of the songs he’s learned so far, his voice way too loud and off-key, like it’s always been. Before, it annoyed you, but now you smile as you listen to him, even joining in with your own mediocre but enthusiastic voice.

When the station goes to commercial, Bucky reaches over and turns down the volume. “Can we talk?” he asks quietly.

You swallow and nod. “Of course.”

He takes a deep breath. “Steve…do you remember before, when…when I asked you to marry me?”

You smile slightly. “Well, you didn’t really ask…”

“You know what I mean.” He relaxes a bit. “You said you felt the same.”

“I did.”

“Did?”

You have to look away from him. “I do,” you admit. “But…I can’t…I can’t be involved with you…not when I’m responsible for you.”

He nods. “I know that,” he says. “I know I’m a child in their eyes, and that they think I’m incapable of making my own decisions. I know you have to be the one making all the calls and that no one trusts me. I know I can’t…I know they don’t think I can…”

You take his hand. “It’s not that they think you can’t take care of yourself,” you say gently. “They’re just scared, Buck. They’ve never had to deal with…with someone like you and they don’t know what to do, so they do the only thing they think makes sense…and that means they want someone to make sure…”

“To make sure I don’t hurt anyone,” he finishes. “I know…but…Steve, I can’t remember doing it. I know I did, I know I killed all those people…but it’s only because people tell me I did. Because they still treat me like a killer. And they don’t trust me. They trust you to make sure nothing bad happens, and it’s not fair to either of us.” He turns away. “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have brought it up, I just…I just hoped that you still loved me that way. Because I do. I still love you more than anything.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “Look…if…if that’s what you really want, I can arrange for…for someone else to be responsible. Because I can’t be your guardian and your...lover at the same time.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because I don’t want…I don’t want anyone to feel that I’m taking advantage of you. Including you. If you want…if you want to try to have a relationship, someone else has to take over.”

He looks afraid again and his grip on your hand tightens. “Who would you give me to?” he asks, and his voice is higher, quieter.

You think quickly. “Clint,” you finally answer, knowing that he’s the only other person Bucky would come close to be comfortable with. “But only if you really want…”

He takes several breaths. “You’re in charge,” he says. “I don’t…I don’t get to choose.”

You shake your head. “No,” you say firmly. “They may not trust you to make that choice, but I do.”

He nods shakily. “Okay,” he says. “I…I’ll think about it.”

You smile. “Okay,” you say. “That’s okay. We don’t have to rush this.” You hesitate for a moment before leaning in and pressing your lips to his for a brief moment.

When you pull back, he smiles back before his eyes widen and he dives to turn up the radio. You grin, recognizing one of his favorite songs, and one of yours, too. One of the ones that’s big and dumb and happy and infectious.

_Do you ever feel,  
Like a plastic bag,  
Drifting through the wind,  
Wanting to start again?_

Tony pokes his head into the kitchen. “Seriously, can you two take voice lessons before you keep doing this?” he snaps.

Bucky only grins and sings louder, and you do the same.

_Baby, you’re a firework!  
Come on, let your colors burst!_

The door slams, but right now, you don’t care.

*

A few days later, Bucky makes his choice. He wants you to give him over to Clint. Because the only way you can have him is if you let him go for now.

Clint is understanding when you talk to him. “Wondered how long it would take,” he says when you admit the reason you have to give him Bucky is because of love. “You two have been dancing around it for months.”

You sigh. “I know…and now we want to give it a try, but I wouldn’t feel right…being with him if I’m supposed to take care of him.”

Clint looks confused. “Are you two…?”

“No,” you say. “It’s not…he never wanted it that way. But it’s still…it’s still a romantic attachment.”

He nods. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll take him…officially. I can be responsible for him. But I’m not going to tell him what to do.”

You nod. “Thank you.”

It takes a few weeks to get everything sorted out, but at last, it’s done.

Bucky smiles when you come to bed now, and you’re happy, lying beside him, exchanging soft kisses, gently touches, nothing too heated, because he doesn’t want that, and you know he doesn’t, and that’s okay. It’s all okay.

He’s soft, in spite of gaining so much muscle and an arm made of iron. He kisses you with a tender sort of shyness, the type that tells you he’s still afraid of hurting you, even now. When his metal arm touches you, you can’t help but flinch at the ever-present coldness of it, but he soon grows used to that, and he isn’t offended. And you hold him, nuzzling his hair and petting his back, and while he still feels small, he feels right.

He’s yours, and you’re both okay.

Right now, everything’s perfect.


End file.
